


lining up to haunt you

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Depressed Sans, Depression, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Intrusive Thoughts, Oops, Sans Has Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Urges, Violent Thoughts, based on the most recent game patch, hold onto your emotions cause i'm probably going to destroy them, there is nothing happy about this, this is going to be a wild ride guys, venting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-17 06:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5858380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"don't forget."</p><p>He doesn't really know what that means, or who he forgot.</p><p>//DISCONTINUED//</p>
            </blockquote>





	lining up to haunt you

**Author's Note:**

> my hobby: making my favorite characters who i love, admire, and relate to go through unreasonable amounts of suffering
> 
> to be honest this entire thing is basically just me venting out all my feelings. this is pretty dark and just not happy at all so please take note of that before reading this.
> 
> (also, i haven't proofread this so i apologize if the phrasing of some sentences is weird.)

Somewhere, a part of him vaguely remembers seeing the faint, grey outline of a door, slowly fading away into nothingness until any sign that it had been there in first place was all but gone.  Voices, memories of the past, echo across the barren landscape of his mind, chanting a single phrase, over and over again, the monotonous hum of their words all melding together until it sounds like only one person is doing the talking.

_~~(don’t forget.  don’t forget.  don’t forget.)~~ _

The people he can’t remember, the memories he can’t recall living though; they jostle around the empty corners of his head, and the sound it makes is much too loud for himself to contain, and the noise just keeps _growing_ , soon his skull is crumbling, and-

 _it’s just.  too much_.

The monotonous drone of their voices calling him, begging to not be forgotten, making desperate attempts to at least remain somewhere within the broken and foggy fragments of his memory, but he _couldn’t save them, you couldn’t save them,_ and now, all he can do it sit through the days wondering who they were, why _he_ can’t remember anything, why _no one_ can remember anything, why the ever-present feeling of guilt that resides in his stomach devours more of his soul as each day passes, and then time begins to blend together, he doesn’t know what to do, and _i can’t, i can’t, i can’t do it, **i can’t take this!!**_

It hurts, _it hurts,_ and he can’t do anything about it because the things that cause the hurt are _gone,_ he can’t bring them back and he’s so, _so_ tired of everything.  Tired of trying to make the voices disappear, tired of acting like he’s okay when he’s _not,_ he’s _not_ and probably never will be, tired of seeing things that _shouldn’t be there_ , shouldn’t be able to exist in this universe in the first place ~~(the door)~~ , and he doesn’t want to care, but he’s weak to make a conscious effort in stopping himself, so he has to keep _hurting_ every day.

He hates it, _hates himself for it_ , because no one understands _why_ he feels like this, and he doesn’t know why either.  So the problem remains unfixable, and Sans remains unsatisfied, unsatisfied with what he’s feeling, unsatisfied with how he’s acting, unsatisfied with _himself_ , and no matter how much he wants it to go away, no matter how much time he spends trying to _hope_ for it to go away, it just _won’t leave._   Nobody can relieve him of the pain, because nobody knows anything about the nameless faces ingrained in his mind except _himself_.  And each setback, each mistake, each and every lie he spits out his mouth drags him down deeper, and _he’s drowning in his emotions, in his thoughts,_ and the pressure that had been building up in skull suddenly feels more poignant than he remembers it being before.

Every last ounce of motivation he possessed to do _anything_ , even simple things, like making puns to mess around with Papyrus, going on his daily trip to Grillby’s, telling knock-knock jokes to the nice lady across the door, is _gone._   It’s hard, _unfair_ , because why does _he_ have to be the one to go through this? Why can’t someone else, someone _stronger_ ~~(unlike you)~~ , bear the knowledge that burdens him each day? _why, why, why does it have to be **me?!!**_

And the next thing he knows, people are starting to _notice_ his behavior, notice how little he cares about things now, notice the miniscule amount of effort he puts forth when presented with and kind of situation, and then they start asking him _questions_ , questions, _so many questions_ about what’s wrong, why he’s been action so down lately, why he keeps making such self-deprecating comments about himself, and it _won’t stop_ , the questions won’t stop, and he can’t answer them properly, has to lie though his teeth because they _can’t know_ , _nobody can know, **i can’t tell anyone.**_

He can’t tell anyone, because then they would think he’s crazy, and _oh god, maybe i already am crazy, they won’t remember because we’re all just living through the same thing, there’s no point and they’ll just forget and i’m so **tired** of everything…!_

And staying alive each day is the hardest part about all of it, because _wouldn’t i just be better off dead? i couldn’t save them, it **hurts** it **hurts** it **hurts** and i want it to stop but i don’t even know who **they** were, i don’t know, i don’t know, i don’t know, **i don’t know!!**_

He wants to try, but at the same time he wants to give up, and he _hates_ it, hates it because he can’t get his mind, his _emotions_ under control, and his thoughts are always running wild, and he doesn’t want to think like this, doesn’t want to see these things when he closes his eyes, but he can’t make them leave, and sometimes he sees the blurry image ~~(memory?)~~ of skeletal fingers ~~(your own fingers)~~ curling onto his neck and squeezing, squeezing _harder_ , _harder_ , and they _**won’t let go-**_

It haunts his mind, the images, the visions, the memories, and at some point he realizes how _easy_ it would just be to _die_.  It would take just one careless move, and then he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, he’d be gone and _it’s be so wonderful, because it’ll finally be over, i won’t have to try anymore, won’t have to feel anymore, won’t have to think anymore, and i just want-_

He tries to stop the train of thoughts from escalating any further, because for some reason, there’s still a small piece of him that screams with a tiny but powerful voice whenever he thinks these things.

_don’t do it! you can’t, you can’t, **you can’t** , because what about papyrus, what about undyne, the lady across the door, alphys, asgore; what about them?! you can’t die, because that’d only make things worse for everyone else.  so stop thinking about it!_

Sometimes, he _wants_ the thoughts to overtake his mind.  He doesn’t want to care and he doesn’t want to try and he wants to disappear but he can’t because he still has responsibilities, people, _brothers_ to take care of.  He barely manages to stay alive each day, he can’t do anything right, can’t get anything done, but he has to stay alive, for what reason he doesn’t know, but _you can’t you can’t you can’t kill yourself, not now, not ever, you can’t!_

He wishes he could sleep everything away, and even if it ends up coming back in his dreams to haunt him, it’s better than having it placed right out in the open for people to see each day when he’s awake.  But he _can’t_ sleep everything away, so he forces himself to push through it.  His mind rarely allows him breaks, and it’d be so much _easier_ to give up ~~(don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it)~~ but he can’t let himself do that, so he doesn’t.

He spends his time wondering why he’s still alive, trying to makes the voices ~~(don’t forget don’t forget don’t forget)~~ leave him alone, and he wants it to be over, _he’s so tired and he can’t take it_ , but the same invisible willpower stops him from doing the one thing he can’t forgive himself for.

Everything is the same, he just want to die but dying wouldn’t solve anything because it’d just be reset and he’d be forced back into that godforsaken timeline and he just wants _out_.  It squeezes tighter around his neck, the space getting smaller, and his body isn’t cooperating and the air won’t let itself in-

Nothing he does will ever have a big enough affect to fix things; to fix the machine resting down in his lab that he doesn’t remember building in the first place, to fix the broken voices of the people he can’t recall meeting before, to fix the memories of _light paths of dust, weaving their way through Snowdin until they lead up to a scarf, a **red** scarf covered in the **same** **dust** of his-_

_~~(stop thinking about it..!)~~ _

Nothing can fix it.  The problems stack onto each other, the hopeless feelings grow worse, and the prospect of dying continues to evolve until it’s become a looming shadow, hanging over his hunched shoulders, whispering the things he forbid himself _not_ to do. 

The tantalizing thought of a blade slicing into his chest lingering on the edge of his mind, and he was close, oh so close to grabbing that blade and making that thought a reality.  He’s _sinking, sinking_ , and it _won’t_ _go away_ , the thoughts, the urges, and it gets stronger, closer, a heavy weight pulling his life, his mind down deeper and _i can’t do anything about it!!_

  _can’t do anything…_

_can’t do it._

And so time drags itself on, pulling him through every loop and reset.  The voices stay with him each time, a constant variable that remains in his life.

Time drags everyone else along with it, too, everyone except _himself_ , and it’s like he’s frozen in place; like his arms are bound and his eyes are taped shut, because while everybody goes and moves on with their lives, he’s _stuck, stuck_ in his own little bubble of worries, insecurities, doubts; and the bubble _won’t_ pop and free his soul, no matter how hard he tries.  He’s too caught up with himself, obsessed with his own self-preservation ~~(because he _can’t can’t can’t_ kill himself in front of papyrus no matter how tempting the idea may be)~~, that now, he doesn’t know how to reach out, extend his arm out in the darkness to ask for help, because _how can anyone help me? i’d just be burdening them.  don’t wanna be more of a nuisance to deal with than i already am._

And he knows that at one point it’s all just going to crash and hit the ground and everything will be _worse_ than it already is and he’ll have to explain things to people and _can’t bear the thought_ of doing that but _he’s going to have to eventually and-_

He doesn’t know what to do.  Or if there’s even anything _left_ to be done.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this, either.  But one thing he _does_ know it that’s he’s _slipping_ away more each day and there’s just _no fucking point to any of this, is there?_

The idea of eternal sleep overpowers his senses.  And really, that’s what he’d rather do for the rest of his useless life spent in this damned little town.  It sounds so… _peaceful,_ to him.  To drift off into a dreamless sleep where he’s not being taunted by the nightmares.  To finally have that raging storm inside him wither off into a calm state of ease.  The disarrayed thoughts that he doesn’t understand would go away, once and for all.

And _that sounds really nice,_ he thinks, because the world would be better without him in it, and maybe he could just _disappea_ r somewhere for a bit, and not many people would notice because they’ve grown accustomed to his disappearances so there would be no reason for them to think that this one would be any different.

And he suddenly wants to disappear right now, rather than later, because something feels wrong and he can’t tell _what_ but he has to get out because _i don’t feel safe, don’t feel safe at all and i don’t why i **just have to leave-**_

* * *

 The sound of a voice, not _the voices,_ but his brother’s, snaps him out of his daze.

“Sans… W-What’s going on…? What are you… d-doing?”

Papyrus’ voice is quiet, eerily quiet and Sans instinctively knows that he’s messed up.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed! i really enjoy getting feedback and hearing what people think about my stories.
> 
> also, don't worry because i will be adding a second chapter to this that'll continue from that cliffhanger at the end. this was originally going to be a one-shot but i didn't know how the end it... so, yeah.


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